


Reeled In

by DisasterTransport



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, set in a vague unspecified time mid-S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 15:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11947134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterTransport/pseuds/DisasterTransport
Summary: You fall in love in a dusty, disused room, in a creepy, probably-haunted university building, staring at a frame of a grainy black-and-white newsreel from the 1950's.





	Reeled In

 

It's nearing one in the morning when you finally make your way back to the dorm. You're surprised to see the light seeping from under the door of room 307 at this hour.

 

“Carmilla!” Laura chirps, swiveling her chair around to face you as you enter the room. “There you are, I've been waiting all night!”

 

The confusion you're feeling must be showing on your face, because she continues without prompting, turning her computer monitor off and rising to grab a sweatshirt from her bed with a grin.

 

“I found the coolest thing, you'll never believe it,” she says, the words muffled as she pulls the sweatshirt over her head. “Come on, I just _have_ to show you.”

 

“I don't think so, cutie,” you drawl, dropping your bag next to your bed with a thunk. “Or have you forgotten that the last time you invited me somewhere I wound up tied to a chair and starved for two weeks?”

 

Her easy smile falls into a look of heartbreaking guilt, and you instantly regret saying anything about it. “I... I really am sorry about that, you know,” she says quietly, looking down and fiddling with the ends of her too-long sleeves.

 

You let out a heavy sigh, silently cursing yourself for allowing this girl to affect your emotions so strongly. You had said it that night, and it still holds true: There really is something about her. “I know,” you say softly. “It's... nevermind. Don't worry about it, really. What was it you wanted to show me?”

 

She looks up at you, her expression lifting hesitantly. “It's a surprise. Will you come with me? No tricks, I promise.”

 

“Well gee, if you _promise,_ I guess I can take the risk,” you intone sarcastically, softening the blow with a half-smile.

 

The gloom that had settled between the two of you a moment ago visibly lifts, and her hopeful gaze brightens into a full-blown smile. “Cross my hearts,” she quips, tracing an X just under each of her collarbones with her index fingers.

 

You're pretty sure that was a reference of some sort, but you know better than to ask, lest she launch into an hour-long explanation and review of whatever she was alluding to this time. It was a lesson you had learned early in your time together as roommates, though you had to admit that it was getting harder and harder to find her unrepentant nerd rants anything but endearing.

 

God, but you're getting soft in your old age. What would Mattie say?

 

“So if you won't tell me what we're seeing, will you at least tell me where we're going at... 1:04 AM?” you ask, glancing at the clock on the wall. “This campus isn't really safe at night, you know.”

 

She rolls her eyes with a snort and steps away towards the wardrobe. “You sound like Will.” She opens the wardrobe door and pulls out a large canvas bookbag that you've never seen before. “Besides, I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine if I'm walking with a super fast, super strong _vampire._ ”

 

She pauses for a second, face scrunched up in thought. “Come to think of it, I suppose I would have been with a vampire then too, huh? That wouldn't have been very safe, in hindsight. Still,” she teases, “I'm like at least 85% confident that you're not going to murder me and hide my body in a ditch, so I guess we're both taking some risks tonight.”

 

You find yourself playing along, despite your strongest instincts all telling you not to engage. “Please, give me _some_ credit, cupcake. I would hide your body in the woods, like any respectable creature of the night.” She laughs, bright and clear, and you find yourself staring. It's incredible how quickly she went from holding you hostage to trusting you to keep her safe and cracking jokes about your vampirism as though it were any other personality trait. That big heart of hers is going to get her into trouble one of these days, you think.

 

You hear something metallic clinking and scraping inside of the bag as she swings it onto her shoulders and shifts the straps into a more comfortable position. You were mostly just humoring her before, but now you're genuinely curious, and judging by the twinkle in her eye and the smug smile she's sporting, she knows it.

 

“ _Anyway_ , as for where we're going,” she begins, and you desperately hope that whatever she says next, it does not include the words 'curiosity' and 'cat,' because you're not sure you'll be able to handle it. Laura definitely doesn't know about your transformation ability, but she probably will in the near future, and you're absolutely positive that as soon as she does, you will be subject to an avalanche of cat-related puns and wordplay and references the likes of which has never been seen. You have accepted this as an inevitability, but if it starts before she even knows what she's doing? That would be just too much to bear.

 

Thankfully, she avoids the unknowingly apt proverb. She'd kick herself if she were aware of the missed opportunity. “It's in the Robespierre building. So we don't have to be outside for _too_ long.”

 

“You know they lock the buildings after dark, right?” you respond.

 

“Yep, but I'm pretty sure I have a way around that.” She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a small leather case. She hands it to you, and you open it to find a beautiful set of lock picks. “Am I right in assuming that you know how to use those? Seems like the sort of skill you'd pick up after 300-some years as a supernatural ne'er-do-well”

 

You run the pads of your fingers over the picks before closing the case and sliding it into your own pocket. “You are. But where on earth did you even get these?” you ask, realizing that you know the answer as soon as you ask the question.

 

“LaF,” you both say in unison. “Of course,” you continue. “Well, let's get this over with.” You gesture towards the door, and follow her out into the hall and the night beyond.

 

The walk to the Robespierre is a quiet affair, the two of you not wanting to draw any more attention than absolutely necessary. You may be a “super strong, super fast vampire”, but that doesn't mean that you want to fight off the local weirdness any more than you already have to.

 

When you reach your destination, you make short work of the lock and she immediately leads you up the dimly lit fire stairs and to the very back of the even more dimly lit top floor, which to your knowledge isn't used for anything more than maintenance and junk storage, with the occasional brave shy pooper using the disgusting bathroom that gets cleaned about once every six months, if that. You and Mattie have a pet theory that it's haunted, but the theoretical ghost is completely uninterested in interacting with the physical world or the people in it, so you've never been able to prove it. You almost mention it to Laura, before realizing that doing so would probably lead to an entirely-too-thorough investigation into the matter, and then you'd never get to know what it was she wanted you to see so badly that she dragged you out in the middle of the night to break into a school building on the world's most dangerous campus.

 

Instead, you gesture to the dim lighting and the grimy walls, your hand causing the dust in the air to dance and swirl in it's wake. “Kind of starting to feel like _I'm_ the one who's going to get murdered and dumped in the woods, cupcake. Is the place you're taking me lined with plastic sheeting, perhaps?”

 

She laughs again, and your breath catches in your throat at the way it lights up her entire face. You'd be lying if you said that hadn't been your goal in saying that. “Was that a Dexter reference?” she says through giggles. “Figures you've seen that. But no, Carmilla, I am not taking you to my murder room. That's in the Lustig, obviously.”

 

“Obviously,” you agree amicably.

 

You finally reach a door tucked away in a small side hallway which Laura opens, flicking on the light as she does so. You hesitate for a moment before following her in to a room that looks like it hasn't been touched in decades. A thick coat of dust and grime covers every available surface, the air still and stale. A single dim, flickering filament bulb hangs from the ceiling by the door, casting the room in heavy shadows. It looks ancient-- you can't believe it still works.

 

Laura is already carefully dropping her bag on the floor with a dull thunk, and glances around for a moment before catching sight of an oddly-shaped something sitting on a nearby table, obscured by a dust cover. She lets out an “ah-ha!” and whips the cover off, causing a cloud of dust to envelop her, sending her into a coughing fit that has you instantly at her side, checking to make sure she's all right.

 

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” she wheezes, tears in her eyes as the lightbulb sways gently from the breeze, shadows dancing across the room. “Should've seen that coming.”

 

As she pats down her hair and clothing in an attempt to remove some of the dust, your laser-focus on her recedes and you finally notice what was under the cover – an old 35mm film projector.

 

“What's this all about, then?” you inquire, motioning to the projector.

 

She gives her hair one last shake-out and collects herself, moving to the projector and flipping a switch on the side. Light suddenly floods the far wall, illuminating a yellowing screen.

 

“Well, I was working on a project for my journalism class,” she explains, opening her bag to reveal several large, octagonal film canisters. She pulls out a couple to check the labels before finding the one she was looking for and bringing it back to the projector.

 

“We're supposed to be researching the function of the newsreel in the years following World War II, and it turns out that the Library actually has a pretty extensive collection of historical film.” She pauses, struggling to open the rusty film canister before slumping in defeat and handing it to you. You crack it open easily and hand it back. “So, I checked a couple out and was watching them in the Library's viewing room when I noticed something interesting.”

 

She gingerly removes the reel from the canister and loads it onto the projector, and you catch yourself staring at her hands as she winds the film through the spools and wheels. “I figured it might not be something we'd want to draw attention to in public,” she continues, “so I asked one of the librarians if there were any projectors in private rooms and he directed me here!”

 

You're absolutely dying of curiosity at this point. What could she have possibly found on a newsreel that would warrant a private viewing session? And at this hour?

 

“Got it!” she exclaims, finally having gotten everything set up to her satisfaction. She rummages in her pocket and pulls out a slip of paper, presumably with a time stamp on it, as she consults it for a moment before turning back to the projector and fast forwarding to about halfway through the reel.

 

She flicks another switch and the bright light on the wall dims, now showing a black-and-white frame of a bustling crowd on a cobblestone street.

 

“So this is a clip from a newsreel on modern fashion in France, from around 1951 or so. Pretty dull stuff, but watch this,” she says excitedly, pressing a button on the projector. The image on the wall comes to life, the dense crowd flowing around each other like water. A narrator drones on in the background about Parisian street wear. It's pretty, you suppose, in it's own way, but you don't see anything notable at all, even when Laura jams her finger on the pause button and shouts “There! Did you see?”

 

“Just the crowd,” you respond honestly. You can't imagine what could have possibly gotten her so worked up.

 

She huffs in frustration and turns back to the projector, manipulating it so that the film runs backwards for several seconds before stopping entirely. “ _There!”_ she repeats, gesturing vaguely towards the screen.

 

You cast your eyes around the frame but don't notice anything out of the ordinary, and certainly not anything that would get her so excited. “...I'm really not sure what I'm looking at here, sweetheart.”

 

“Ugh, _look!”_ she says, grabbing your wrist and tugging you closer to the screen, staying off to the side so as not to block the projection. You desperately try to ignore the way your skin tingles where she's touching you.

 

You reach the screen and she points to a smiling woman in the crowd, only half of her face visible, the rest of her blocked by either the crowd or the large-brimmed hat that she's wearing. For a moment, you're still not sure what she's on about, but then... no, it can't be.

 

“It's you!” she exclaims, a grin splitting her face from ear to ear.

 

And it is. It really, honestly is you, on the streets of Paris in 1951, hair coiffed and hat placed at the perfect jaunty angle atop it. You can't see the rest of your outfit, but in a rush of memory, you can suddenly see it in your mind's eye. You remember that day, you remember walking down that very road with one of the few friends you had been able to make before Maman had found you and dragged you back into her clutches. You can even remember the conversation you were having, joking and complaining with each other about how bad the crowd was.

 

“...Carm?” you hear Laura ask, hesitantly, and you realize that you've been staring at the screen with your mouth half-open for a long time. What's more, when you drag your gaze away and manage to look at Laura, her eyes go even wider than they already were. You blink, and feel wetness on your cheeks. You were crying without even noticing.

 

“Oh no!” wails Laura, clearly very distressed. “Oh gosh, Carm, I'm so sorry, I-- I thought you'd like to see this, I didn't want to make you cry! Oh crap on a cracker I'm so so sorry, I figured that since you looked so happy and it was from those couple of years when you were free of your mother, you'd enjoy it but I obviously totally screwed up, I shouldn't have done this at all, I'm so sorr--”

 

“Laura,” you say firmly, cutting her off mid-ramble. She clamps her mouth shut at once and shifts nervously from foot to foot. You look back at your past self, trying to collect your thoughts as you wipe your cheeks with a sleeve.

 

As unbelievable as it was that Laura just so happened to stumble across a piece of B-Roll footage that you were unknowingly in, it was even more amazing that she had been able to pick you out of the crowd at all. There were dozens of people flowing across the screen at any given moment, and you couldn't have been visible for more than a second or two.

 

“How did you...” you manage to choke out, still staring at your own smiling face. Your throat is tight, overwhelmed by memory and something else, something new that you're having trouble placing.

 

“...find you?” she guesses. You nod. “I don't really know. I wasn't looking or anything, I was watching it for my project and... there you were. I recognized you right away, it was like you just... popped right out of the screen,” she finishes softly.

 

And there it is. That's why you're so choked up right now. You're not crying because you're upset or nostalgic. You're crying because the girl in front of you had picked you out of a crowd at a glance, where you hadn't even recognized yourself for several seconds. And what's more, it didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. She had pointed you out in a sixty-year-old film with no more disbelief than she had when pointing you out in a photo of the crowd at the Silas swim team party.

 

She had seen actual, physical proof of your agelessness and hadn't batted an eye. She had done what nobody outside of your “family” had ever done-- she accepted your immortality not only in theory, but in practice.

 

You don't realize it now, but later you would look back on this as the moment you were truly, hopelessly lost on her. It had started weeks ago, when she had included you in her hopes for a better world despite your sub-par interpersonal skills, but it had ended here.

 

You fall in love in a dusty, disused room, in a creepy, probably-haunted university building, staring at a frame of a grainy black-and-white newsreel from the 1950's.

 

You take a deep breath and let out a soft, shaky laugh, lost for words in a way that you haven't been in decades. “Thank you,” you say gently, finally managing to tear your eyes away from the screen and meet hers again.

 

She smiles hesitantly, clearly still worried that she had upset you. “What for, making you cry?”

 

You shake your head slightly, the most genuine smile you've ever sent in her direction forming unbidden on your lips. “For seeing me.”

 

Her eyes go wide and her cheeks tint pink before she looks away and bustles back to the projector. “Yeah, well, uh, I- I mean--” she stutters, fiddling with the switches and making the film speed backwards, rewinding itself back onto the reel. “It was no big deal, just, y'know... thought you might like it,” she mumbles, her words getting so quiet that you doubt you would have heard them if not for your supernaturally enhanced senses.

 

You watch from a distance as she fumbles with the reel, removing it from the projector and returning it to the canister, the grace and confidence that her movements had had when she was setting it up completely vanished into her sudden, bumbling awkwardness. Her crush on you isn't nearly as subtle as she thinks it is.

 

“I did,” you say simply.

 

Laura slides the canister back into her bag and switches off the projector, throwing the dust cover back on top of it and the room back into a dusky twilight.

 

“Come on, we probably shouldn't spend much more time in here,” she says as she swings the bag back onto her shoulders, an excited twinkle developing in her eye. “I heard that the building might be haunted!”

 

“Oh really,” you chuckle as she leads you out of the room and back outside, launching into one of her journalistic monologues detailing the history of the building, the apparitions that had supposedly been sighted there throughout the years, and the mundane-to-grisly events that were supposedly attributed to them. You're pretty sure that at least one or two of the more unpleasant happenings were your own doing, and a few more Will's or Mattie's, but you decide not to mention them in favor of listening to her ramble.

 

As the two of you quietly make your way back to the dorm, playfully whisper-bickering over whether or not a ghost could beat a vampire, it's as if a weight you hadn't known was there has lifted from your shoulders. You feel lighter than you have in a very long time.

 

Hidden in the darkness of the campus, you smile to yourself. Maybe, you think... maybe this one is worth it.

 

 


End file.
